


Pour que de notre amour naisse la poésie

by AbschaumNo1



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Die Uralte Metropole Fusion, Everyone Is Alive, Multi, Urban Fantasy, not that you need to know anything about that to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbschaumNo1/pseuds/AbschaumNo1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their song begins a long time ago, but it takes time to come fully together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour que de notre amour naisse la poésie

**Author's Note:**

> This began in September 2014 as a self-indulgent thing that somehow got bigger and bigger, over a year and 20k words later we are here.
> 
> Sadly the bookseries that informed the subplot and from which I borrowed a few characters is only available in gemran to my knowledge, but it might help you to imagine a world similar to that of Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. I kept the actual plot of that series out as much as I could, and only borrowed from it here and there. According to my betait works without knowing the series. If there are any questions feel free to ask.
> 
> The title is from a poem by Charles Baudelaire called ['L'Âme du Vin' ](http://fleursdumal.org/poem/192). It means "So that from our love there will be born poetry"
> 
> Last but not least a huge thank you to everyone who listened to me talking about this and to S for the beta. <3

Time is a weird thing, Combeferre has found, and it doesn't always pass as one might expect. He and his friends for example, are far older than they look, but here they are, maybe not quite looking like students anymore, but still living in Paris, privy to one of the city's biggest secrets.

Because there is Paris, la cité lumière, the city of love that tourists from all over the world come to visit; and then there's Paris, la ténébreuse, the Ancient Metropolis, the city below the city that no one wants to enter anymore. Paris is alive, but la ténébreuse is dead, and yet it is there. There's Lazarus-people at the Gare Saint Lazare, la bouche de la folie, where Dr. Moreau treats the mentally ill, and the Comté Montmartre, where an ancient goddess spends her exile in the Cinéma Blanc. It's a world of gods and angels and every creature and myth people think they have heard of.

And unlike London, the city of chimneys, Paris does not have the luxury of two rivalling houses to stir up conflict to feed the ancient being it was founded on. Which maybe is part of the problem, Combeferre muses, looking at an old friend he was not expecting.

But that happened later, and it is not where this story begins.

Where the story actually starts is on a day that reeks of revolution. It is the day that Combeferre, heir to an old house of elfish descent, meets the heirs to two other elfish houses, Enjolras and Courfeyrac. And Combeferre just knows that the three of them belong together; it's a song that is unfinished, but they are the first three harmonies that have come together, and they will soon find the others. It is a remarkable time for Paris, the people have risen and the king is dead, killed on the guillotines of the revolution.

The song comes together slowly, a group of young men, most of them from the old houses, that meet in kinship and form a family that is more than blood. They share ideals and sympathies, and they make their way in the difficult landscape of politics in both Paris above and below. There are nine of them: Enjolras, Combeferre, Jehan, Feuilly, Courfeyrac Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, and Grantaire. Bossuet is a trickster, his father elfish, his mother human, and only Feuilly is fully human, but he has grown up in the metropolis and its world, just like they have.

They dream of a world that is free and equal, but there is not much they can do for the first few years. They live through Robespierre's Terreur, and the reign of Napoleon, they see a king return, and witness another revolution that ends in the crowning of a different king. All before their own time comes.

They meet Marius, who is in love, and prompts Jehan to wax lyrically and sigh dramatically in equal measures. His mother was an elf, and his father a human, something he doesn't find out until his father dies. It is what causes him to break with his grandfather, and makes him end up in the care of Courfeyrac, who has more than enough love to give, and would never ignore a friend in need. Combeferre can see that Marius being in love hurts his friend more deeply than he lets on, and it breaks his heart a bit, because if someone does not deserve to have his heart broken it's Courfeyrac. But the world is cruel and sometimes it is cruellest to the kindest hearts.

And then it is June 1832 and it is time. General Lamarque is buried, and they attempt to overthrow the government. It does not work out quite the way they expect it to. They build a barricade in front of the Corinthe, but they have to find out that the people are not ready for their revolution. There is a close call when Bahorel gets stabbed in the chest, and the only thing that saves him is Bossuet's trickster ability that he has hated all his life. Because Bossuet is cheerful but unlucky, and his trickster ability means that he can heal people, but has to pass what kills them on to someone else. It is how he lost his family and property, before he met Joly.

Bahorel lies on the ground, bleeding, and all they can do is stand around him. “I can help you,” Bossuet says, but their friend shakes his head.

“You shouldn't have to use it for me. No one should have to die for me. This is where my road ends, and maybe it's best like that. Greet the new world for me.”

“But I can't let you die.” They can see the conflict in Bossuet's eyes, and Joly steps close and puts a hand on his shoulder. They all look at each other in silence for a second, until an old man steps forward.

“Is there truly a way to save this young man?” he asks.

Bossuet nods. “I can heal him, but I have to pass on what kills him to someone else or sacrifice myself.”

“Pass it on to me,” the old man says, “I am old, I would die soon. He does not deserve to end his life so early.”

“What is your name?” Enjolras asks.

“Mabeuf.”

Enjolras nods solemnly. “Your name shall be remembered, I will make sure of that.” And then he nods at Bossuet, who takes a deep breath and takes the hands of Bahorel and Mabeuf. It's not a nice thing to witness, and it leaves all of them in a slightly darker mood than before.

It is not much later that Combeferre is informed that his darkest fears are about to come true. He pulls Enjolras aside and tells him in an undertone, “I don't think we will be able to get out of this alive.”

“We were not exactly unaware that that might be a possibility,” Enjolras replies, one eyebrow raised.

“Not like this,” Combeferre says, “We were prepared to die for the cause, that's right, but they are planning to slaughter us; no questions asked. I could not find out who, but someone out there wants to make an example to show everyone just how futile any attempt at revolution is.”

Enjolras has to think about that for a moment, and when he looks up again Combeferre can see the fire in his eyes. “We need to get them out,” is the only thing his friend says.

Before nightfall a stranger joins them. He doesn't tell them his name, but he shoots a soldier of the National Guard off a roof and saves lives, and they decide to trust him for now. He asks to be allowed to deal with the spy they hold prisoner in the café, a police inspector called Javert, and Enjolras grants his wish. They hear him shoot the spy, and Combeferre knows the look in Enjolras' eyes as the barely concealed rage it is. He bows his head.

Night breaks and after Enjolras has told everyone to get some rest their little family gathers in the Corinthe.

“We think we should get everyone out,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Now that's something I never thought I'd hear you say,” he remarks.

“Enjolras is right,” Combeferre says before the other man can make one of the scathing remarks that inevitably lead to arguments with Grantaire. “We are hopelessly outnumbered and I have been informed we will be slaughtered as soon as morning comes.”

“I know we were all ready to die here, but I don't think anyone here deserves a futile death.”

Grantaire can't hold back a snort at Enjolras' words, but the blond only gives him a look that makes him bow his head. Combeferre suppresses a sigh, because these two might just run into their doom if they do not manage to find more common ground.

It is Bahorel who asks, “So how are we getting out?”

But before Combeferre or Enjolras can admit that they have no idea yet, a voice speaks up from behind. “We go through the sewers.”

“But they will observe the paths of the ancient metropolis,” Joly says with a frown on his face.

The stranger shakes his head. “We're not going through the metropolis. It's true that some parts of the sewers are part of it, but between here and the Seine they aren't, which means chances are high that they don't expect us to use them.”

“But how do we get into the sewers?” Jehan asks.

“There's a drainage pipe that's a tight fit for a human, but still large enough to slide down with some effort.”

Enjolras looks around. “We've still got a few hours and it will be a hard way so get some rest, and I will wake everyone when it is time to leave.”

They spread out, some of them still huddling together, others preferring to be on their own. Feuilly sits in a corner and carves something into a wall, while Combeferre and Joly sit together on the barricade and smoke. Joly is leaning against one of Combeferre's legs and looks slightly lost and vulnerable. For some reason it reminds Combeferre of the many hours they have spent together studying. He squeezes his friend's shoulder and gives him a smile that Joly returns. They had been very close once, for some time, but then Joly and Bossuet met Musichetta, who has a fortune teller's eyes and a smile that means the world to the two of them.

Enjolras wakes them in the early hours of the morning, before dawn, and gathers everyone to explain their plan. Some of the others question his motives, but between Courfeyrac's passionate words and Combeferre's reason they convince them to leave. Enjolras as their leader is the last to go down the pipe, following Grantaire, who insisted on waiting with him. Their group gathers at the bottom, and the stranger leads the way.

It is a tedious walk down to the Seine, and when they emerge the spy they thought dead is waiting for them. He looks down at their guide and there's a coldness in his eyes that speaks of a long-lived hatred.

“So we finally meet again, Jean Valjean,” the spy says, and their guide sighs.

“It's me you want, Javert, so take me.”

Javert's eyes flicker to them for a moment, before he focusses on Valjean again. “You won't get away again.”

“Let them go and I am yours. You cannot think that handing them over to the National Guard and getting them killed will solve anything.”

“Come with me now and I will not have seen them,” Javert says finally.

Combeferre can see that Enjolras wants to say something, but he puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. They quickly move past the two of them and scatter to disappear into the streets of the city. Combeferre can see Courfeyrac help Marius, who has a wound in his shoulder, while Feuilly drags the still weakened Bahorel around a corner. Joly and Bossuet have already disappeared into the dark, as well as Jehan. Combeferre and Enjolras grab Grantaire by the elbows and pull him along towards Enjolras' apartment, where Combeferre leaves them to move on to his own. They will all meet in the Musain later.

Things have changed by then. They find that the National Guard is still out looking for them, to make an example of them. Courfeyrac has met Cosette, and he looks like he has found an angel. And Enjolras gets a soft look in his eyes whenever he looks at Grantaire, who sticks closer to him than usual. Combeferre has his suspicions about what happened between them, but he is not inclined to voice his thoughts until they decide to share it with him.

They sit close together in a corner, as if they already know what they will have to do.

“It looks like we should think about leaving the city for a while,” Courfeyrac says.

“We will scatter and stay away from Paris for a few years until things have calmed down,” Enjolras decides, and as sad as it makes all of them they know that it is the only thing they can do.

Joly and Bossuet are the first to stand up and leave; Musichetta meets them at the door, a bag hanging over her shoulder, and two more standing at her feet. They each give her a kiss on the cheek and together they walk away from the Musain. Up next are Feuilly and Bahorel, who give them a wave, as they leave the café. Finally Courfeyrac helps up Marius, and they vanish towards the home of Marius's grandfather where Cosette will wait for them and greet them with kisses. Jehan looks sad when he gets up, and embraces each of them before he walks out through the door.

“What will you do?” Enjolras asks Combeferre as they sit with the rest of their drinks, and for the first time since the barricade Combeferre thinks about it.

“I think I will travel,” he says finally. “There is still a lot to see in the world and much knowledge to be gained. But what will you do my friend?”

Combeferre does not miss the quick look towards Grantaire, and neither does he miss the way Enjolras' arm moves as if he just took Grantaire's hand below the table. “I don't know yet. Maybe I will go back to the country, and spend some time with my parents.”

Grantaire says nothing and Combeferre knows that his way will be the same as Enjolras's, wherever it may take them.

He leaves before them, and a day later he begins his journey. He travels long and far, and sees many places. He spends time in Prague, a metropolis unlike any other, and lives in London for some time. He sees every place he ever dreamed of visiting, but he knows that it is Paris that he misses, and his family, and over time he has come to realise that there is one person in particular that he wants to see again. But it was never meant to be, and he knows that as well.

He stays in contact with his friends through letters, and messages passed along. Grantaire has followed Enjolras to Germany, and back to Paris and through every revolution on the continent, but then suddenly Enjolras stops talking about him and his own rambling letters feature Apollo less and less. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta have mostly stayed in southern Europe, and it is through them that Combeferre finds out where Grantaire stays. Jehan goes where his poetic musings take him and writes as many words as he can. Sometimes his letters are haunting, and sometimes they seem to flow over with happiness. Courfeyrac has taken Marius and Cosette to his family's mansion in the country where they have been spending happy days together, wrapped in joy and love. Combeferre visits them from time to time, and marvels at how much more radiant Courfeyrac is, and how Marius manages to stay slightly awkward and dreamy, while being far more mature than before. Cosette is charming and has the two men wrapped around her little finger. Feuilly and Bahorel write from Poland, and then later from all kinds of places. Feuilly is picking up work wherever he can, and Combeferre senses from his letters that he is slightly annoyed that Bahorel sticks to his ways, but Bahorel must have changed something, because Feuilly begins to sound calmer about it again.

Combeferre finds himself in Egypt after the Great War that will later prove to be only the first Great War humanity finds itself in. So many discoveries are made in this place that he cannot stay away from it. It is in Cairo that he meets Maurice Micklewhite, who works for the British Museum, and his friend Mortimer Wittgenstein. They are both staying away from London, and in a way Combeferre finds kindred spirits. They sit together sometimes in the evenings, but it is not the same. Only when he meets Tom and Eliza Holland Combeferre realises that he has been lonely.

It is not Eliza with whom Combeferre falls together so much as it is her brother who catches his attention, and Tom is not uninterested either. They become fast friends and when they kiss lazily on a divan in Combeferre's quarters he thinks that maybe he can be happy here. But they have to part soon because the Holland siblings are sent to Budapest by Howard Carter, and Combeferre finds himself on his own for a while.

He writes Jehan, because out of all of his friends he feels like he is the one to talk to about this. Jehan decides to come to Cairo, to write and (and this remains unmentioned) to be there for his friend. He arrives by ship shortly after his letter, and greets Combeferre with a warm embrace. He shows Jehan around and they sit together like in the old days, discussing politics and literature. They both agree that the treaty of Versailles was too harsh and that bad things will come of it, and later Combeferre will think of Jehan's words in a coffee house in Cairo: “They will recover and they will not look kindly at the world.”

It is Jehan who tells him that he should not think too much of what could be but should focus on what is, and to accept happiness wherever he finds it. It is also Jehan who laughs softly when he sees the look on Tom's face upon his return, and tells him, “Don't be afraid, I will not take him from you. We are family more than anything.”

But Tom has changed during his absence, and Combeferre cannot get him to talk at first, but when he does it is exhilarating and scary all at once. Because what Tom tells him is a story of vampires and secrets as old as the world, and as it turns out Tom has become one of them. For a moment after his confession it seems like he is waiting for Combeferre to tell him to go, but instead he pulls him close and holds him, because Tom looks lost and there is no way he can turn away from that.

Howard Carter is still looking for the untouched grave he hopes to find, and for a while things are almost carefree. Tom has less time for Combeferre, but they make it work, and Jehan is still around. They attend evening parties together, and Jehan writes verses about a dry yet beautiful country by the Nile that Combeferre reads and comments on.

There is an evening when someone knocks on their door and Combeferre opens to find a disturbed looking Tom on his doorstep. The other man looks shocked, and for a moment he does not seem to be able to form any sort of coherent sentence. Combeferre leads him into the room, and makes him sit down, while Jehan hurries to get them some tea before he retreats to his room again.

Once he has calmed down a bit Tom talks about a secret chamber in an old grave, and a queen thought dead who was driven mad by thousands of years of hunger and loneliness. The thing the queen has turned into is dead now, and Tom was there to witness it. Combeferre holds him all through the night and tries to soothe his disturbed state of mind with kisses and caresses.

They leave the country together shortly after, accompanied by Eliza. They go to London together, and for a few years Combeferre stays there, happy to be with Tom. But he has not been to Paris for too long, and once the Second Great War is over and Europe begins to rebuild itself he decides to go back. Tom looks sad when he tells him the news, but they both know that a song has to end some day and that there is always the chance that they will pick it up again.

Combeferre returns to Paris over a hundred years after he left, and while the city has changed a lot he can still see traces of the one he has left behind. He stays with Enjolras until he has found a flat, and meets his old friends. Combeferre is the last to return, and he is happy to be with his family again. Jehan has taken over a bookshop close to Notre Dame, and Grantaire lives in the Hôtel Absinthe in Montmartre with a rag tag group of bohemians. He keeps his distance from Enjolras, but there is nothing that will keep him away from them. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta still live and love together. Musichetta sells her talents as a fortune teller in the markets of the Ancient Metropolis, and Joly works as a doctor for the poor in both cities. Enjolras spends his money on activism, and Courfeyrac, Marius and Cosette have moved into the town house after Marius' grandfather died and his aunt decided to move away. Bahorel lives with Feuilly, who works jobs in the numerous cafés and bars of the city. While none of them have completely changed in their beliefs they are hopeful for the moment that things will be better now.

They still meet in the Musain, and occasionally the Corinthe. Both buildings have decided to move shortly after 1832, and have survived in the city below. It was Grantaire who has found them, just like he had found them all those years ago. He helps Combeferre find a flat now, because to this day it is Grantaire who best knows his way around the city, and soon Combeferre moves into a nice space above an empty shop that he decides to turn into a bookshop, though one vastly different from the one Jehan owns. Where Jehan sells poetry and prose and has the greatest writers of the time visiting, Combeferre specialises on everything from science to alchemy and what most people would call magic. His bookshop is a haven for everyone who seeks knowledge, and he has a room full of rarities that aren't up for sale but can be looked at if needed.

He still writes Tom sometimes, and tells him to visit, but the other man seems occupied with a lot of things and the times that they see each other are few. Combeferre would dwell more on it if he did not spend more time being with his friends and having those of them who do not have anything better to do hang around his bookshop.

Grantaire is the one who visits most often. He spends time between the bookshelves, reading books on history or classical mythology, and sketching whatever comes to his mind. He would probably be there more often if the bookshop was not also a place for Enjolras to read and do his work. They both take care not to be there at the same time, and Combeferre asks himself just what exactly happened between them. In the meantime he talks to Grantaire about all kinds of things, and tells him about the things he saw in his travels, and discusses politics with Enjolras.

There is still progress to make for them, and protests may not be as numerous as they have been before, but they still have their goals to work for. Inequality is a cancer of society that never quite goes away, and the equality they dream of is as far away as ever despite everything they try.

The sixties see the largest student protests of the century, and they take as much part in it as ever; rallying the people, and arguing for the cause. But things die down after the sixties and la ténébreuse is slowly shrinking. Soon there is only Montmartre under the protection of Bastet, and Montparnasse under the protection of the Gabrielites left, as well as the occasional place like the Gare St Lazare. The Musain and the Corinthe are two more such places, but they are lesser known to the folk of the metropolis. The Musain has moved from its former place close to the Sorbonne to the depths beneath la Bastille, where it has been joined by the elephant that stood on the place in the past. The Corinthe seems happy close to its old location in Les Halles, and simply has ridded itself from the confines of the streets around just as if to say that it doesn't want something like 1832 to ever be possible again.

This is the Paris Combeferre has learned to live in when unexpected things start to happen.

It is Tom, who enters the bookshop on a cold winter day. There is something in his expression that tells Combeferre that something must have happened. He ushers him over to the corner where Enjolras is still working on a speech and manoeuvres him into a chair.

“This is Enjolras, a friend of mine. He was just about to leave, I believe,” he introduces his friend.

Tom manages a smile and shakes Enjolras' hand. “My name is Tom; I'm an old friend of Combeferre's.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Enjolras replies as he gets up and gathers his things. He squeezes Combeferre's shoulder in passing. “I will see you tomorrow,” he says and then he is already out through the door, flipping the 'Open'-sign on his way out.

“Can I get you anything?” Combeferre asks.

“A cup of tea would be nice.”

Combeferre heads to the backroom to make a pot of tea and search through the cupboards for the biscuits he is sure he has somewhere.

A couple of minutes later they sit together in a corner of the shop, tea steaming in their cups.

“What happened?” Combeferre asks, and Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair while he thinks about his reply.

“Eliza is...gone. Or not really, I suppose. It's...it's difficult to explain.”

Combeferre reaches for his hand and says, “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

Tom takes a deep breath and when he talks a tale begins to unfold in front of Combeferre's eyes. It is a tale of fallen angels and a love that bloomed against all odds at a beach by the Red Sea; it is a tale of a daughter who brings a curse upon the world, and the man who would stop her, and it is also the story of Eliza Holland, who still exists but has so fundamentally changed that she is something entirely new, and who made a decision that helped break an ancient curse.

Tom looks lost when he is finished, and Combeferre moves over with his chair to embrace him. He does not know what to say for a moment. He has known ever since Egypt that what happened to his friend was big, and that something even bigger must be connected to it, but what Tom just told him is even bigger than he expected. But it seems that Tom does not need him to say anything, he just melts into Combeferre.

“She was always my little Eliza,” Tom says after a while, “I just couldn't think any different of her. And now...I know that she is still there, but I just can't see this new Eliza as the one I have grown up with and lived with for all these years. It's scary.”

Combeferre holds him a little tighter. “It's understandable,” he tells him. “And I'm sure she doesn't hold it against you. She's grown up, and she did what she had to do to prevent a lot of people from dying.”

“I just feel guilty, because after everything that she has done, she doesn't deserve this.”

“You don't have to. She may have done this to help people, but it's perfectly fine for you to have problems adjusting to this change. You've known her for so long, of course it's scary when she changes this much.” He moves away so he can grasp Tom's shoulder and look into his eyes. “What Eliza did was brave and heroic, but you're her brother and you worry for her, and if anyone is allowed to feel conflicted about her choice, it's you.”

Tom gives him a smile, and wraps his arms around Combeferre's waist and buries his head against his neck. “I knew it was right to come to you with this.” Combeferre smiles and presses a short kiss into Tom's hair.

“I missed you, too,” he says and they finally move apart. Tom's smile is sheepish.

“I really should have come earlier, shouldn't I?”

“It's okay. You could make up for it by staying a few days.”

But Tom shakes his head at that. “I don't think I should. I...as much as I still like you we haven't seen each other in decades, and I don't think we can pick...us back up where we left off. We're not who we were back then. Besides, I am perfectly able to read between the lines, and I know that there's someone you're waiting for.”

Combeferre's smile shows a hint of sadness. He should have known that Tom was still able to read him that well. It's not the first time that he has done it. Still, he would have liked to spend some time with him again.

“So how have things been for you?” Tom asks finally in an attempt to change the topic that Combeferre is glad to take. Their conversation moves away from Eliza and the curse that had been lying on her and her brother and that is now ended, and turns towards the more mundane problems of a group of political activists in Paris. Combeferre tells Tom about Jehan's newest verses, and the illustrations Grantaire has recently sold, and then he tells him anecdotes about the people visiting his shop. They talk for hours until it is late and Tom moves to get up.

“I should go now. I'm sure you want to go to bed, and I should move on,” he says.

Combeferre gets up as well, and follows him to the door. “It was good seeing you,” Combeferre tells him when they pause. “You should visit again some time.”

“Maybe I will,” Tom replies. ”But promise me to do something about that artist of yours.” He smiles, and for a moment Combeferre can see the young man he met in Cairo all those years ago again. Tom is standing in front of the door with Combeferre towering slightly over him thanks to his bigger height and the step he is standing on, and he is just opening his mouth to say his farewells when Combeferre bends down to press a last kiss to his lips. Tom's hands find their way to Combeferre's neck and he smiles as he kisses back. He's still smiling when they part.

“Goodbye Combeferre,” Tom says, and with a last soft press of lips against lips he disappears into the night.

Combeferre looks after him for a moment, before he turns around and moves to close the door. That is when a movement at the corner of the street catches his eye. Grantaire is standing there, looking pale and haggard and a bit lost. Combeferre lets go of the door and moves to walk over to him, but before he can take a step Grantaire has turned around and disappeared around the corner. The image of him standing under the street light follows Combeferre into his dreams that night.

After their meeting at the Musain the next evening Grantaire approaches Combeferre with a sheepish look in his eyes. “I didn't want to intrude yesterday... I just was in the area and thought I'd look if you were free.”

He is looking embarrassed and, while Combeferre is still cursing himself for having Grantaire see Tom and him like that he cannot do anything about it now.

“It's okay,” he tells Grantaire now, “We were standing on the street after all.”

“I just... I didn't know you had...” Grantaire's ducks his head.

“Oh, I don't. He was...he meant a lot to me a long time ago, and he came to visit because he's going away and doesn't know when he'll be able to again. We're just friends now.”

Combeferre thinks that a look of disbelief and something resembling hurt crosses Grantaire's face before the other man can catch himself, but it's gone before he can be sure that he really saw it. Instead Grantaire smiles at him and says, “Good to hear you have friends apart from us. I was beginning to think that you'd turn into a hermit at some point with that bookshop of yours.”

Combeferre chuckles. “I couldn't. Not with you and Enjolras bugging me all the time. And if it wasn't one of you the others would surely be glad to come around to make sure I don't spend all of my time in there.”

“Damn right you are.” It is Bahorel who appears from somewhere behind Combeferre and drapes an arm around his shoulders. “Speaking of which, you should come over to our place for dinner sometime soon. I don't think you have tasted Feuilly's latest creation yet, and it would be right up your alley.”

“Not to doubt Feuilly's talents but you know the kind of things he usually makes aren't exactly to my taste,” Combeferre replies, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

But Bahorel will hear nothing of it. “Trust me; even you'll like this one. You should come as well,” he tells Grantaire, who looks a bit uncomfortable, but shrugs.

“I guess, it won't do any harm to come,” he says after a short moment.

Bahorel grins. “Great, I'll talk to Feuilly and we'll see about a date” And with that he disappears again, leaving Combeferre and Grantaire with similar expressions on their faces.

“That was...odd,” Combeferre says finally. It makes Grantaire snort.

“Not the oddest thing he has ever done,” he says.

“That's true.”

There is laughter in Combeferre's voice and Grantaire smiles brightly at him. But then the artist's eyes flicker over his shoulder and he clears his throat. “I guess I'll go and see what Joly and Bossuet are up to.” Before Combeferre can think to reply he is already gone.

The reason for Grantaire's disappearance becomes clear when Enjolras appears next to Combeferre. He looks after Grantaire with a frown that is less disapproval than confusion, but he does not share his thoughts with Combeferre. Instead he starts talking about a march he has started to plan, and as curious as Combeferre still is about what happened between his two friends, he does not pry but listens politely and adds his own insights when he can.

One of the problems is, Combeferre decides a few days later, that Grantaire has become entirely too good at masking his emotions. It is not that they do not show on his face anymore, it is more that it has become far too difficult to read his expressions. Or maybe that is just Combeferre and the way he becomes distracted whenever he talks to Grantaire. He has taken to thinking about his hands far too often, and it seems there is no conversation with the artist in which he does not catch himself imagining doing something entirely different with the man. It's unlike himself, but Combeferre does not think he can stop anymore. If he is honest with himself, it may have become a problem since Tom's visit.

Meanwhile, Grantaire still comes to the shop whenever he can. He occupies a corner from which he can easily take in everything that is going on, and sometimes when he thinks they could use something to smile about, he gives drawings to Combeferre's customers. There is a young woman, who tends to look worn out and weary, and often comes to the shop after a night spent working for university. She usually comes when she does not know where to look anymore, always asking for help that Combeferre is only too willing to provide. When she comes to the shop with circles under her eyes that are deeper than what Combeferre has seen before on her, he sits her down, brings her a cup of tea and asks her what is wrong. She confides that her boyfriend has left her in the middle of her writing her thesis, and that the last few days were hard on her. Combeferre lends her his ear, while Grantaire sits tucked away in his corner and does not show any indication of having heard her story. But before she leaves he presses a drawing into her hands that shows her in the bookshop, pouring over a thick volume straight out of Combeferre's collection, her hair in a loose bun, with a few strands escaping and falling into her face; the look on her face is one of deep concentration, but it is clear that she is at ease and content where she is. When she leaves the shop with the drawing there is a small smile on her face.

They are both invited to Feuilly's and Bahorel's place a few weeks after Tom's visit. The two friends have their apartment not far away from Montmartre. It's a light, open place that Bahorel insists on paying for, since he does not work. Feuilly works shifts as a barkeeper in a bar frequented by those who know about the city under the city, but in his free time he likes to polish up old pieces of furniture that he finds all over Paris or he crafts things. He has a bit of a knack for it, and a lot of the furniture in Combeferre's own flat shows his skill. But a lot more of his craft shows in the flat he shares with Bahorel.

It is Bahorel who opens the door when Combeferre knocks; he has a grin on his face, and welcomes him with one of the bear hugs he is so fond of.

“Grantaire is already here, we were just waiting for you to arrive,” he says as he closes the door behind Combeferre and gestures towards the living room. “Just go on through, you know the way. I'll tell Feuilly that you're here.”

Combeferre watches as he disappears into the kitchen, a dry smile on his face, before he turns and enters the living room. Grantaire is more sprawled over the couch than sitting on it, and studies the notice board on the wall with all the small mementos of their friends. Combeferre can see a poem that Jehan wrote and Grantaire illustrated, and bits of letters and cards everyone sent, as well as ticket stubs from various places the two friends have visited together. There's a receipt from a bookshop in Florence, and another one from a café in Istanbul, as well as photos of their group at various occasions. There is even a newspaper clipping from a protest Enjolras spoke at several decades ago. For a moment Grantaire and Combeferre sit in silence, both looking at the notice board.

“I was at that protest, you know?” Grantaire finally says, indicating the newspaper article. “It was the last one before we went different ways.”

Combeferre only watches as Grantaire runs a hand through his usually messy locks. There is not much that he can add to that, he still does not know what exactly happened, and he does not think that Grantaire would appreciate questions right now. The artist looks pensive, as he continues staring at the article, and a long moment passes before he speaks again.

“I think I always knew that we wouldn't work out. But I wanted to try, and when he let me close.... I was happy.” He looks as if he is far away with his thoughts now, and Combeferre leans forward and reaches for his hand. Grantaire looks up at him. “I guess I wasn't wrong, was I?”

Combeferre reaches up with his free hand to caress Grantaire's cheek. “I'm sure he was happy, too. And I don't think he holds anything that happened between you against you.”

For a long moment they look into each other's eyes, but then Grantaire looks away, and Combeferre moves away, and the moment is broken.

“So have you tasted this new drink of Feuilly's before?” Combeferre asks a smile on his face.

Grantaire shakes his head. “This is the first time for me, too. I'm wondering what he came up with that Bahorel is so convinced that you'll like it.”

Combeferre can only nod at that. It is well known among their friends that while he does drink alcohol, Combeferre prefers wine or tea over anything else. For Feuilly to have created something that's, as Bahorel so eloquently put it, right up Combeferre's alley would be an interesting development indeed.

But before they can wonder about it anymore Feuilly is entering the room, a tray with two glasses in his hands. He puts it down on the table, and says with a soft smile, “There you are. I hope you like it.”

Combeferre can see Bahorel leaning in the door, a fond smile on his face as he watches Feuilly waiting for their reaction, and there's something about his expression that makes Combeferre think that there is more to it. But he pushes the thought to the back of his mind as he picks up his glass to taste the drink. He has tasted Feuilly's creations before, but this is something new. It is fruity, but not sweet in the way cocktails usually are, and lacking a better word Combeferre would actually call it off-dry, which should be ridiculous but somehow works. He can see a similar train of thought transpire on Grantaire's face, and they both share a look before looking up at Feuilly, who has started grinning.

“How?” Grantaire finally says.

“Now that would be telling,” Feuilly says smugly. “And I can't go around spilling trade secrets, can I?”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him. “Because you really have to fear our competition, don't you?”

“Wouldn't want to risk it, would we?” Feuilly replies, and behind him sounds the rumble of Bahorel's laughter. The other man steps forward and sings an arm around Feuilly's shoulder.

“You won't get it out of him, R,” he says. Next to him Feuilly still has a smug grin on his face, and Bahorel, who is easily a head taller than him ruffles his hair affectionately.

Feuilly only rolls his eyes at him, and easily steps away from Bahorel, saying, “I'll leave you to it then, food won't get finished by itself.” He smiles and disappears back into the kitchen, Bahorel looking after him, with a smile on his face, and oh Combeferre is sure now that there is something that they are not telling them, because the last time he has seen that look in Bahorel's eyes was when he was still head over heels in love with that girl back before the uprising.

Bahorel turns back to them, and catches Combeferre's eye, and just gives him his usual easy grin, as if to ask “so what?” Combeferre just smiles back.

They help Bahorel to lay the table while Feuilly finishes cooking dinner, and soon there is food and wine and laughter as the four friends sit together, and for a while it is almost as if there is nothing wrong in the world they live in.

Grantaire and Combeferre leave together, and to Combeferre's surprise it is Grantaire who speaks about what seems to have happened between their two friends when they are taking the elevator down.

“It seems they have found something in each other while on their travels,” Grantaire remarks. He laughs at the surprised look Combeferre gives him, and says, “You're not the only one who has seen it, my friend. In fact you are hardly the first to see it, but neither are you the last.”

“Let me guess,” Combeferre says with a smile. “Enjolras hasn't realised yet.”

“Yes, our fearless leader is not always the most perceptive where it concerns matters of the heart,” there is something in the way his lips curl in a dry smile that makes Combeferre think of their earlier conversation, but his words remind him of a time long gone when Grantaire sat in the backroom of the Musain, watching Enjolras as if he was everything he needed in life. It only reminds him of how long Grantaire has not done that anymore.

From the way he looks at him Grantaire knows what he is thinking, and the smile on his face turns slightly bitter.

“I know what you're thinking of,” he tells him. “But it is in the past, and what-ifs would bring us nowhere.”

“Will you ever tell me what happened?” Combeferre asks him.

Grantaire looks pensive, and then he says, “I don't know. Maybe I will one day, but I cannot tell when that will be.”

Combeferre nods, and squeezes Grantaire's shoulder reassuringly. “Then I will wait to satisfy my curiosity.”

Grantaire smiles at him, and this time there is something in the way he looks at him that makes Combeferre think of the past, but also of how things are all different now. Something flutters in his stomach, but all he can do is smile back at Grantaire, because at that moment the doors of the elevator open and they have to step out.

It is a few days later that Enjolras and Grantaire have their worst argument in a while. They have always argued, ever since they have known each other. Their arguments have just become far more infrequent than before, and while he still takes great care to believe in nothing, nowadays Grantaire seems mostly to try to make Enjolras see apparent faults in his arguments than wanting to truly oppose him. This time however is different.

None of them is really able to say how it gets so out of hand that Enjolras snaps at Grantaire more vicious than he has in ages, and the cynic gets up and leaves. All they know is that there is a moment of silence while everyone first stares at the door, and then turns to look at Enjolras.

“That was uncalled for,” Courfeyrac says finally, voicing the thought everyone in the room has. Enjolras sighs and drags his hand down his face.

“I know,” he says. “And I know there's no excuse for what I just did.” He looks at the door with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I'll talk to him tomorrow. I don't think he'll want to see me right now.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre share a look, because this is not what they expected, but then Courfeyrac nods. “Good luck, my friend.”

After a moment Combeferre gets up and says, “I'll make sure he's okay.” He picks up his bag and his coat, and returns the knowing smile Jehan gives him, as he turns towards the door. Before he leaves he hesitates, and gives Enjolras a long look. “I hope you know how to mend this.” He can see the slight curl of Courfeyrac's lips, and the short glimpse of shock on Enjolras' face before he leaves the Musain.

It turns out that it is not hard to find Grantaire. He has left the Ancient Metropolis, and entered the first bar he has found. He doesn't even look up when Combeferre sits down next to him, instead opting to continue staring into his drink. “Did Enjolras send you to look after me?” he asks, bitterness in his voice. “Because obviously I can't be trusted with myself, and someone needs to look out for me.”

“No,” Combeferre says, “I came because I wanted to make sure you get home safely. The city isn't exactly safe at this time of night.”

“So, is he happy with himself?”

“He's sorry. But he realises that there's no excuse for what he has said,” Combeferre tells him truthfully.

Grantaire lets out a snort. “Now that would be a first. Are you sure you're talking about the right Enjolras?”

“I only know the one,” Combeferre replies, a small smile playing around his lips.

Grantaire finally looks up and studies him for a moment. “So how are we doing this?”

“Well, what do you want to do? Because we're doing that and then I make sure you get home safely.”

“But how are you going to achieve the second part when you're getting drunk with me?” There is amusement in Grantaire's eyes now, and Combeferre finds himself smiling.

“Well, I was planning to be slightly more passive in that, and let you get drunk, while I stayed sober.”

This time Grantaire laughs. “I shall try to not be so annoying that you want to drink then.”

“You could never be,” Combeferre replies, because it is the truth, and Grantaire deserves nothing less, especially after his argument with Enjolras.

Grantaire looks away from his face, and swallows. “You should not make hasty promises. You will only find that you have to break them.”

“You will probably not believe me if I told you that it wasn't a hasty promise, so I shall not say it, and let my actions speak for me.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and picks up his drink to salute Combeferre. “To your good intentions then,” he says before he raises the glass to his lips and empties it.

It turns out that, despite drinking far less these days than he has in the past, Grantaire still holds his alcohol remarkably well, and is just as prone to excessive ramblings when he is drunk as he was before. If Combeferre is completely honest he has expected nothing less, and he certainly has had some of his more interesting discussions on philosophy with the man while he was drunk. In this the evening turns out to be unsurprising.

They stay at the bar until they are thrown out because it closes, and by then Combeferre can justify to himself that he does not bring Grantaire to his own rooms, but takes him home. After all, the bookshop is far closer to where they are now than Montmartre is. And thus Grantaire wakes up in Combeferre's bed the next day. It is a Sunday, and since his shop is closed Combeferre has allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in, and he is not awake yet when Grantaire gets up. His friend needs a moment to orientate himself, but he has not been inside Combeferre's bedroom since the man moved in, and it takes him until he leaves it to find the bathroom to realise that he is in Combeferre's flat. When he has relieved himself he hovers awkwardly in the door of the living room, watching Combeferre, who is stretched out on the sofa, his hair unusually messy from sleep. Grantaire enters on soft feet, and squats down so his face is level with Combeferre's. For a moment he studies him, an unreadable expression on his face, before he gets up again and leaves the room silently to make coffee for both of them.

Combeferre wakes up to the smell of coffee and fresh pastries, and when he walks into the kitchen he finds Grantaire sitting at the table, a pot of coffee and a plate with croissants in front of him, as well as the day's newspaper. Combeferre's hair is still dishevelled, and his glasses sit slightly askew on his nose. But he smiles at Grantaire, who does not quite feel like the intruder he is anymore.

“I was so free to head to the bakery,” Grantaire says, motioning towards the croissants. “Since you let me sleep in your bed, I thought it only fitting to provide you with breakfast. Even though the hour is closer to lunch, I believe.”

Combeferre nods, and sits down with him, civil enough for human interaction, but still not quite awake before his first cup of coffee in the morning. He has been known for it among his friends, and so Grantaire simply pours him a cup, and passes it over to him. Combeferre practically breathes in the coffee and picks up a croissant, while Grantaire pours him another cup.

“I hope you have slept well,” Combeferre says finally, when he feels ready to talk.

Grantaire smiles, and says, “As a babe, as the saying goes. I find that your bed quite agrees with me.”

Combeferre laughs. “I am glad to hear that. I can assure you that it agrees with me as well.”

“Ah, what a pity. I was hoping I could haggle it from you.” To untrained eyes Grantaire might look sorry about it, but Combeferre can see the amusement in his eyes, and he is replying before he can stop himself.

“I am sure an arrangement could be found,” he says and luckily the split second it takes him to realise what exactly he has just said is the same split second in which Grantaire starts laughing.

It is a nice laugh, Combeferre thinks; shaking his whole body, and making crinkles appear around his eyes that remind Combeferre of how many years they have been living already. He does not dwell on how Grantaire does not seem to take his words seriously, instead he is somewhat grateful for it, because this is familiar territory, nothing that would risk anything they have now. And Combeferre knows that he is being a coward about this whole thing, but he would rather spend time with Grantaire like this than scare the man away.

Once he has stopped laughing, Grantaire regards Combeferre with a soft look in his eyes. “As favourable as I might think about that offer I don't think you are quite aware enough to really mean that.”

“What if I do?” Combeferre asks, voice soft.

Grantaire's expression falters. “Cruelty doesn't suit you, Combeferre. I never took you for someone who would play with a friend's heart like this.” He moves to get up, a hurt expression on his face, but Combeferre grabs his wrist, and pulls him back towards him.

The expression on Grantaire's face almost breaks his heart, and that is probably why he acts the way he does now. Before Grantaire can pull away from him again, Combeferre reaches up to take his face into both hands and pulls him down to kiss him. The angle is slightly awkward, with Grantaire not having expected this, and Combeferre acting on instinct rather than conscious thought. It is not a perfect kiss by any means, their noses bump and due to the movement their lips meet with what is probably slightly more force than strictly necessary. But Combeferre is still glad, glad because it is finally out there. The kiss does not last long, it is over in a second, and Grantaire stumbles slightly backwards. He looks confused and shocked, and he looks at Combeferre with wide eyes, before he stumbles backwards and says, “I... I need to go home.”

Combeferre lets him go, his stomach sinking, and Grantaire almost runs out of the flat.

Courfeyrac and Cosette find Combeferre staring at the plate of cold croissants on his table a few hours later. He has not moved since Grantaire left, but now Cosette is pulling him up and guiding him towards the sofa. She makes him sit down and holds him, while Courfeyrac busies himself in the kitchen, making tea. When he is finished he comes to sit on Combeferre's other side, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He does not cry, he does not think he has reason to cry, he only sits there apathetically, and allows his friends to hold him.

Finally Cosette presses a cup of tea into his hands, and Courfeyrac moves away so he can see Combeferre's face. “What happened?” he asks, a serious look on his face that betrays just how concerned he is.

Combeferre takes a deep breath before he replies. “I...I think I messed up.”

“What did you do?” Cosette asks, after sharing a look with Courfeyrac.

“I...Grantaire slept here last night, because it was closer than his own home, and well, we had breakfast and talked, and I said something before I could stop myself, and then...” He closes his eyes and takes another breath. “I kissed him and he all but ran away from me.”

Courfeyrac and Cosette share another look, and then Cosette wraps her arms around him. “Oh don't think that,” she says. “He was probably just shocked. I'm sure you didn't mess up.”

“Then why did he run?”

“My friend, I don't think you messed this up at all. It is just that Grantaire is a man who likes to deny himself the good things in his life, simply because he believes he doesn't deserve them,” Courfeyrac tells him, and when Combeferre only looks confused he chuckles. “It is truly remarkable how similar you and Enjolras can be sometimes. Even though I have to admit that you are much faster on the up taking than he is, you can be almost as slow as he is.”

“I...I don't understand.”

“Oh darling,” Cosette says. “The reason is that Grantaire is in love with you. He was probably just shocked that you kissed him, because he couldn't believe that it was actually happening. I am sure that if you go and talk to him you will find that he is not actually completely opposed to your advances.”

“Combeferre, I know that you have loved him for a long time, but I think you were so focussed on believing that your feelings were unrequited that you did not see that he is returning them,” Courfeyrac adds.

For a split second Combeferre only stares at them, but then he suddenly gets up. “I need to do something,” he says and then he is already out of the door.

By the time he has reached Montmartre he has realised that he has no idea what exactly to say to Grantaire, what he knows is that he cannot turn back, because this is it. If he does not talk to Grantaire now everything will be lost.

He enters the Hôtel Absinthe, and his eyes immediately focus on the head of dark curls in a corner of the room, sitting opposite Enjolras, who must have come to make amends for the evening before. Enjolras is the first to see Combeferre coming, and he must already be finished, because he gets up and presses a kiss to Grantaire's cheek as he tells him goodbye. He smiles as he passes Combeferre, who nods in reply and slips into the place his friend has just vacated.

Grantaire looks at him for a long moment, before he picks up the coffee standing in front of him and sips on it. “He told me you would come, you know? And here you are,” he says.

Combeferre nods, and takes a second to organise his thoughts. “I think I acted a bit rash this morning,” he finally says. “Because I don't think I have made my intentions quite clear enough. So I'm here to start it over.”

Grantaire leans back and looks at him in anticipation. “Go on then.”

Combeferre takes a deep breath. “What I said this morning was not intended to be cruel. It was in all earnestness.” He pulls a face. “I may have said it before I thought about it, but that doesn't mean I would lie to you about something like that. You are...I like you very much, and hurting you was never my intention.

“And I don't regret that I kissed you, but I do regret that I did it like that, because it was wrong to do it without making my intentions clear, and, even more importantly, without asking for your consent.”

There is a moment of silence when Grantaire takes a sip of his coffee, bewilderment clearly written onto his face. “You, Combeferre, are without doubt the most wondrous man I have ever met,” he says. “But rest assured, I won't run again. In fact, I think that I should make a few things clear before we proceed.

“The reason why I ran away this morning was not that I was opposed to your advances, it was rather that I was shocked, because I never even dared to dream about something like this happening. I...guess I didn't want to face that I could have what I wanted for so long.”

Grantaire does not say it, but Combeferre is sure that his relationship with Enjolras has something to do with it, and so he smiles at the other man, and puts his hand on the table, palm upwards, as in invitation and says, “I am here if you'll have me.”

The smile on Grantaire's face is bright enough to light several rooms, Combeferre thinks, and he thinks that maybe he looks the same to the other man when Grantaire puts his hand in Combeferre's and says, “I'll have you.”

They go out for dinner a few days later, and Combeferre feels like he is an actual train wreck of nervousness. Courfeyrac and Enjolras have come over, after he called the first and let slip that he had no idea what to wear, and because Courfeyrac is one of his best friends he laughed at him over the phone before telling him he would be right over and hanging up to call Enjolras in as well. The two of them are now sitting on Combeferre's sofa, drinking his tea, and being entirely unhelpful. Where Enjolras is mostly there for moral support, Courfeyrac keeps bombarding him with clothing suggestions. Finally Enjolras decides to have mercy on Combeferre and clamps Courfeyrac's mouth shut.

“I'm sure Combeferre knows how to dress himself,” he says, and smiles at the thankful look the man in question sends him. “That said, I'm not as much of an expert as this one here, but you always looked good in light blue, so go with that.” And then he lets out an undignified yelp as Courfeyrac licks across his palm.

“The light blue pullover and the beige trousers!” he gets out just as Combeferre leaves the room.

A moment later scuffling can be heard from the living room, and Combeferre shakes his head. Sometimes it is hard to believe that his friends are considered adults. He takes Courfeyrac's advice though, because the man is usually right about his fashion advice.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras actually send him off like two proud parents (Courfeyrac more so than Enjolras) when Grantaire comes to pick Combeferre up.

Grantaire looks good in the dark jeans and the dark green pullover he's wearing, and he definitely washed his hair before he came, because Combeferre has seldom seen him without traces of paint in his curls. He raises an eyebrow at Courfeyrac's display of wiping away a tear from his eye before Combeferre rolls his eyes and shuts the door.

“I'm sorry about those two,” he says. “I don't know why I put up with them either.”

Grantaire laughs. “Maybe we should leave the city then, because I think Joly actually cried against Bossuet's shoulder, and I don't think a change of friends would work out for us.”

“Musichetta and Cosette would hunt us down, and there would be terrible consequences to endure,” Combeferre replies, shaking his head. “And they would probably bring Marius to guilt-trip us.”

Grantaire shivers at that. “I don't think I am ready for the power of Pontmercy. We shall have to endure our ridiculous friends then.”

Combeferre laughs, and they walk in silence for a moment, before he asks, “So where are we going on this fine evening?”

“It is a surprise,” Grantaire says with a smirk, and ads with a glance at Combeferre, “But I think you will like it.”

As it turns out Combeferre really likes it. The place Grantaire has picked is a Maghrebinian restaurant in a side street not too far from where Combeferre lives. He is surprised that such a place exists so close to his home, and wonders why he has never seen it before, but then Grantaire has always known the city better than anyone else.

They sit down in a booth, separated from the rest of the room by a beautiful curtain with a pattern that reminds Combeferre of ones he has seen during his time in Egypt. He lets Grantaire order, because he seems to know this place and has proven in the past that he has a hand for picking good food. He orders them chicken in a thick tomato sauce with sesame, and couscous, along with a bottle of wine from the Atlas, and this is the point at which Combeferre makes himself stop thinking about every little thing Grantaire is amazing at, because if he doesn't stop now he will never do it. Incidentally it is also the moment Grantaire smiles at him and he just forgets about anything else anyway.

It is kind of weird to think about their meeting as a date rather than a simple dinner among friends. But they are so used to being around each other that talking is no problem. Neither of them really realises how time passes, and soon enough they are already finished with dinner. Grantaire insists on paying, and then they are back out in the cold air of a February evening. At first they only walk closer than usual between them, but then Combeferre wraps an arm around Grantaire's shoulders under the pretence of the coldness, and Grantaire does not protest and wraps his own arm around Combeferre's waist. For a while they just wander the streets of Paris at night, without a care for the world.

They finally come to a halt under the same street light that Grantaire was standing under when he witnessed the kiss between Tom and Combeferre, barely two months ago. Combeferre smiles down at Grantaire and asks, “Do you want to come up and warm up before you go home?”

With a smile of his own Grantaire shakes his head. “I fear I would not leave, and I wouldn't want to impose on you.”

“You wouldn't impose,” Combeferre says, one eyebrow raised, and Grantaire laughs.

“I would hope so, but no, it is better I go home and sleep in my own bed.”

“Then all that is left for me is to wish you a good night.”

Grantaire smiles, and leans upwards to press a short kiss to Combeferre's lips. “Good night, Combeferre,” he says and then he lets go and disappears into the night, Combeferre looking after him.

That night Combeferre dreams of Grantaire under the street light again, but this time it is a happy Grantaire who is standing there and smiling at him, and when Combeferre steps towards him he waits for him and allows him to kiss him.

Noon has barely passed on the next day when Courfeyrac waltzes into Combeferre's shop, Cosette and Marius in tow. He approaches Combeferre, who is sorting some books into the shelves with a wide grin, and asks, “So how did it go?”

Combeferre shares a look with Cosette. “How did you manage to hold him off this long?” he wants to know.

She may look a tiny bit smug when she replies, “I have my methods.” Next to her Marius gets a bit of a coughing fit. Cosette waits for him to recover before she asks, “But tell us, how did it go?”

“It was nice,” Combeferre says with a smile. “He took me out for dinner, and then we went for a walk.”

Courfeyrac lets out a small groan, and says, “It is almost scandalous how proper you are. You cannot tell me that that is everything that happened.”

Combeferre just smiles at him, while Cosette rolls her eyes and says, “Now Courfeyrac, you don't want to pry, do you? I'm sure that Combeferre would tell us if anything important happened.”

“Haven't you heard that a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Courfeyrac?” It is Grantaire who has entered the shop and gives Courfeyrac an amused look. He smiles at Cosette. “You are a saint for putting up with him.”

She smiles back, while Courfeyrac pouts next to her. “He is perfectly capable of being a decent human being if he wants to,” she says, and when Courfeyrac opens his mouth to protest Marius whacks him on the head and looks utterly unimpressed at the look it earns him from the man.

“She's right,” Marius tells him.

Grantaire snickers, and grins at Courfeyrac. “You heard them, Courfeyrac.”

Cosette gives him a bright smile and then she takes her two men by one arm each and steers them towards the back room. “I'm sure Grantaire and Combeferre can do without us for a moment, so let's go make tea.” She smiles at them one last time and then the door closes behind the three of them.

Combeferre looks back at Grantaire, and smiles as the other man steps closer.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Grantaire says, and Combeferre laughs softly.

“Only if you call saving me from more of Courfeyrac's questions an interruption,” he replies.

“Oh I am sure he will be back at it as soon as he can.”

Combeferre puts down the books he is still holding to step a little closer and drop his hands to take Grantaire's hands in his. “What should I tell him then?” he asks, still smiling.

Grantaire pulls up an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to think of something.”

“Oh I'm sure I could, but you could always give me some inspiration.”

Grantaire laughs, and nods. “I guess I could do that.” He leans up and presses a kiss to Combeferre's lips. It is not longer than the one they shared the evening before, in fact, it is not really that different at all, except that this time Grantaire does not move away, but stays close to Combeferre and smiles at him.

“I think I can work with that,” Combeferre says, and for a moment they just stand there, completely ignorant to the world around them.

But then the sound of the back room door opening makes them move apart. It is Cosette, who smiles at them and says, “It's just me. I thought I'd warn you before Courfeyrac comes out again and pesters you.”

They can hear Courfeyrac behind her, saying “I heard that! And I wouldn't ever pester my friends about their love lives! Who do you take me for?”

“Only yourself,” Marius says as he passes Cosette with a tray in his hands. He gives her a peck on the cheek, and smiles at her, before he goes to put the tray down on the table in the corner. Soon they all have warm cups of tea in their hands, and are loosely grouped around the table. Cosette is sitting in Courfeyrac's lap, while Marius watches them with an adoring look on his face, and Grantaire has hoisted himself up on the small counter, which earned him a stern look from Combeferre with little heat behind it that he only met with a raised eyebrow. Combeferre himself is leaning against the counter right next to him, and somehow Grantaire's free hand has found its way to his shoulders where it traces idle circles.

It is like that that Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet find them, and the first thing Musichetta says is “I told you they would be here.”

“Yes, you did, and we shall stand corrected and not doubt you in the future,” Bossuet says with a fond grin that Musichetta only rolls her eyes at.

“I'm glad to see I wasn't wrong and thus won't have to whack either of you over the head for being an idiot,” she tells Combeferre and Grantaire after she embraced both of them, and takes the seat Marius offers her.

Grantaire smiles at her, and says, “Surely you didn't think us so foolish as to inspire your wrath, Musichetta.” He is moving while he speaks, and by the time is finished he has manoeuvred himself around Combeferre somehow so that the taller man is bracketed by his knees where he is standing.

Bossuet who has moved to stand next to them laughs. “I'm sorry, R, but that's exactly what she thought.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I am wounded. Don't you trust me anymore, Musichetta?”

“It's not so much that I don't trust you. It's more that you have a habit of making wrong decisions,” she replies with narrowed eyes. “But I see you didn't do it this time, so I am satisfied.”

“She really only wanted to come because she likes your tea, Combeferre,” Joly says with a laugh, as he moves past on his way from fetching cups from the kitchen.

“I also came for his biscuits,” Musichetta says. “Because he keeps making a secret out of where he gets them from, and I am still set on finding out.”

“But if I told you, you wouldn't come to my shop anymore, and I just couldn't do without your visits,” Combeferre tells her with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Musichetta narrows her eyes at him. “One day I will get you to tell me, because keeping the source for biscuits this good to yourself is a crime.”

Combeferre gives her a smile. “I think I have kept worse secrets in my life than the source for amazing biscuits.”

“Stop threatening him, darling,” Joly says. “I have never seen our dear Combeferre crack under pressure, I doubt you will fare any better at this method.”

The smile Musichetta gives Combeferre promises that she has not given up yet.

Combeferre decides to close his shop around the time that Jehan enters with a happy smile. With so many of his friends in here it has become quite crowded and with so many of them already there it is only a question of time until the others turn up as well.

Once he has returned to his place at the counter, Grantaire leans forward and murmurs, “It seems our friends are very invested in us.”

“They only want to see us happy,” Combeferre replies.

“And are you happy?” Grantaire asks, and Combeferre turns around to look at him. For a moment he just studies his face, but then he smiles.

“I am. And you?”

Grantaire smiles back, and his hands come to rest on top of Combeferre's, and oh, he was not even aware until now that they were lying on top of Grantaire's thighs. But every thought of that stops when Grantaire says, “I am, too.” and Combeferre is incredibly aware of their friends around them because if he is not he might do something stupid like kiss Grantaire until they are both out of breath because he's so happy.

The group stays at Combeferre's bookshop until Enjolras, Feuilly and Bahorel have arrived as well, and then they decide to go out for a drink together. Combeferre and Grantaire stick together, which is probably the only reason why Grantaire avoids getting dragged into a new drinking game Courfeyrac and Bahorel have come up with. Enjolras manages to make it look like he is not actively avoiding the two of them, but Combeferre knows what he is doing, and he sighs at the thought of it.

“I know I said I would wait until you tell me about it to satisfy my curiosity about what happened between the two of you, but I do have to wonder about it, because it is the only reason I can think of for why Enjolras has been avoiding us all evening,” he says to Grantaire at some point, and the artist looks over at Enjolras and sighs.

“I'll go talk to him,” he replies finally. “Because he is being ridiculous about this.”

As soon as Grantaire walks over to talk to Enjolras Jehan appears next to Combeferre and says, “Enjolras is not only ridiculous about this, he's an idiot.”

Combeferre pulls up an eyebrow and says, “So you know what happened between them?”

“I do. I forced both of them to tell me after it happened,” Jehan replies with a nod. “It's not a nice story. I assume you're still waiting for any of them to tell you.”

Combeferre nods. “I just don't want to pry into their private affairs too much, and the way they still treat each other... of course I want to know why, but I will wait until they're ready to tell me.”

Jehan smiles at him. “I am glad you and Grantaire finally worked this out. It was starting to be bothersome to watch the two of you dance around each other.”

“Only you could refer to it as bothersome though,” Combeferre says, laughing. “But I have to agree, I am glad that we worked it out, too.”

“And me, too. So that makes three of us,” Grantaire, who has returned just in time to hear their last words, says. “I think I have sorted Enjolras out. At least he's promised me to stop avoiding you just because I stand nearby, which is probably all I could ask of him.”

“If he doesn't I shall go and be very cross with him,” Jehan promises.

“And who would I be to inspire the wrath of Jean Prouvaire?” It seems Enjolras has finally decided to stop avoiding coming over, something that Combeferre registers with a smile.

“I was starting to think you thought we couldn't be friends anymore,” Combeferre tells him, his raised eyebrow probably saying far more than his words.

Enjolras has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “It was definitely not my intention to appear so. I just wanted to give the two of you space.”

Combeferre sighs and looks at their two friends before pulling Enjolras a bit aside, and says, “I know I have no idea what exactly happened between the two of you, but you don't have to pretend it was nothing. I am aware that things are still difficult between you and Grantaire, but you're my best friend and I hope you can deal with the fact that we are dating now and I want it to work.”

Enjolras looks down at the floor as he replies, “I...I thought he might not want me around, because of what happened between us. But he told me earlier that he would not want to come between our friendship, and... I will deal with it.”

“Good. Because I would hate for you to keep avoiding me.” They smile at each other, and turn to join Grantaire and Jehan again. As they do, they both catch Courfeyrac looking at them with a hint of worry in his expression, but when he sees their faces he starts grinning, and gives them both a thumbs up.

Once their group disperses and everyone goes their separate ways towards home, Combeferre and Grantaire find themselves wandering the streets of Paris together again. Combeferre wraps his arm around Grantaire, and for a moment they walk in silence. Snow has started falling and Paris is slowly turning into a copy of what people seem to think it looks like in winter. Grantaire has burrowed his face in his scarf, and is walking as close to Combeferre as possible. They stop beneath the same street light as before, and Grantaire seems unwilling to move even an inch away.

Combeferre turns and wraps his second arm around him as well. “You could always come up to my place, if you don't want to bear the cold on your own,” he murmurs into Grantaire's hair as the other man moves to wrap his own arms around him.

“I think I might take you up on that offer this time.” Grantaire sounds a bit drowsy, as if he could fall asleep any moment, and Combeferre drops a short kiss on his curls.

“Good,” he says, and moves so they can walk the rest of the way. Grantaire makes a soft noise of protest, but he moves along, and soon enough they are in the warmth of the flat. Combeferre tries to leave the bed to Grantaire and sleep on the sofa again, but he is stopped by a hand on his wrist.

“Don't go,” Grantaire says, half asleep already and obviously comfortable in Combeferre's bed.

Combeferre does not protest, he just slips under the covers next to him. There is a moment where he asks himself which way he should turn, but then Grantaire rolls over and reaches out to pull him close, and he just reacts to the movement and turns so that he spoons him. Soon they have both drifted off to sleep.

When Combeferre wakes up the next morning, Grantaire is looking at him with a soft expression on his face. Combeferre smiles at him, and reaches over to smooth his locks out of his face, just before he moves forward to kiss him. Their lips move against each other lazily, and Grantaire pulls Combeferre with him, as he rolls over onto his back. Combeferre coaxes Grantaire's lips open, just as the other man slides one of his hands into his hair, and wraps the other one around his shoulders. Their tongues slide against each other, and somewhere in a very distant corner of his mind Combeferre thinks that maybe he should not like it as much as he does, but also that he would take all of Grantaire any day, morning breath and all. He is aware of the feeling of Grantaire's skin beneath his fingers, as his hand slides along the other man's side, while he is bracing himself on the other arm. He finds himself thinking that he could easily spend the rest of his life kissing Grantaire.

But the two of them have to stop eventually, to catch their breaths, and for a moment they are just lying there together. Finally, Grantaire reaches up and presses a short kiss to Combeferre's lips, and says, “As much as I would like to spend all day doing this, I think you have a bookshop to open, and I have commissions to finish.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him. “That feels like a thing I would say in this situation.”

“Maybe it's your influence on me that makes me more responsible,” Grantaire says with a lazy smile. “Or maybe I am trying reverse psychology on you to make me stay.”

“I am not sure that that is how reverse psychology actually works.” Combeferre is amused now, and he smiles at Grantaire when he continues, “But it works for me, I guess.” And then he kisses Grantaire again, and for the moment the thought of leaving the bed is not as much at the front of their minds as before.

They do get up eventually, first Grantaire and then Combeferre, who just cannot stop himself from getting up to kiss Grantaire again when he comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, dressed in the same jeans he wore the day before and a t-shirt he borrowed from Combeferre. It is tighter than it would be on Combeferre, due to Grantaire's stockier frame, but also longer, and Combeferre finds that he kind of likes the way it looks on him. Grantaire laughs into their kiss and he seems happy in a way Combeferre has not seen on him in some time. It is remarkable how easy this is, considering how much they have danced around each other in the past few months, but maybe, Combeferre thinks, this is how it was meant to be.

Grantaire smiles at him, and reaches up to ruffle Combeferre's hair. “I think you'll want to take a shower before you go down to open the shop. I'll make breakfast in the meantime.”

Combeferre nods, and gives him another short kiss, before he goes to pick up some clothes and take a shower.

When Combeferre opens the bookshop Grantaire gives him a peck on the lips and says, “I will go to get my supplies, and if you'll have me I will work here.”

“I'll always have you,” Combeferre replies, smiling, and Grantaire laughs.

“Then I will be back as soon as I can,” he says. He pulls his scarf up to his nose and burrows deep into his coat, but the happiness is still clear in his eyes when he turns away and walks down the street towards the metro station.

He spends most of the day in his usual corner, his materials taking up most of the table, concentrating on the piece of art he is working on, while Combeferre is dealing with customers or sits next to him, reading a book. There is a pot of warm tea in the kitchen, and Combeferre makes sure that the cup next to Grantaire is always filled.

When Combeferre closes the shop, Grantaire is still working, and Combeferre presses a gentle kiss to his head, and says, “You should stop now, Grantaire. It is late.”

“I need to finish this,” Grantaire murmurs, and Combeferre sighs and shakes his head.

“What you need right now is something to eat and time to relax,” Combeferre says sternly. He puts his hands on Grantaire's shoulders, and rubs the joint between shoulder and neck with his thumbs. “You're saying you don't need it now, but believe me, you will be grateful later when you don't suffer from back pains, because you've been sitting like this for too long.”

Grantaire leans back into the touch, and finally puts his work down. “You are far too reasonable for me to disagree with you on this.”

“Good,” Combeferre says. “Because you will come up with me now, and I will cook for you, and you will relax, so you can look at your work with fresh eyes tomorrow.”

Grantaire smiles. “That sounds good; can I do anything to help?”

“Yes, in fact you can. We're going to need wine, and you're going to pick one for us.” Combeferre smiles at the twinkle in Grantaire's eyes at the words.

Grantaire gets up, and Combeferre lets his hands fall down to rest on his hips. Grantaire smiles up at him, and says, “Let's go then.”

When they are sitting together on Combeferre's sofa later, Grantaire with his head in the other man's lap, and sprawled out over the length of the couch, he asks Combeferre, “Do you think that maybe we're doing this a bit fast?”

Combeferre, who is carding the fingers of one hand through Grantaire's hair, puts down the book he is reading and takes a moment to think about it, before he says, “I think it goes however fast we want it to go. And I think that we should go ahead with it as long as we're comfortable with it.”

Grantaire smiles up at him. “So are you comfortable with me staying over for another night?”

“That makes it sound like you either think I'm not or very sure that I am,” Combeferre replies, arching one eyebrow. But then he smiles and continues, “But you can rest assured, because I am quite comfortable with you staying here another night.”

Grantaire grins smugly. “To think I charmed you into liking me enough for this.”

“I'd rather consider myself lucky to have charmed you enough to be comfortable with this,” Combeferre says softly as he leans down to press a short kiss to Grantaire's lips.

“I think we can both consider ourselves lucky then,” Grantaire murmurs as they part.

Combeferre smiles. “I think we can.”

In happiness months can pass without notice, and as cruel as the world can be, Combeferre finds it can also be beautiful and nice. He has of course experienced the happiness of love before, but as much as he loved Tom, there was always some sort of dissonance hidden in their song, that one note that just did not fit, because somewhere in the back there had always been Combeferre's feelings for Grantaire, and while the dissonance was easy to ignore, it was sometimes enough to know that it was there. With Grantaire there is no dissonance. Of course they do not always see eye to eye, and of course there are moments when they disagree so fundamentally that they both have to step back and take a deep breath before they can talk again.

At his core Combeferre is a man of logic, and even though none of his friends would call him heartless, there are moments when he falls back on logic, even though he does not want to. Meanwhile, Grantaire is much more a man of emotion. He is not always ruled by the positive emotions of his heart, and there are maybe too many moments in which he gives in to the negative emotions that are a constant whisper in the back of his mind.

They both have known these things about each other for a long time, and for most of the time the way they differ from each other harmonises and makes it easier for them both to stay on track. But sometimes they both cannot help it and they find themselves needing time away from each other to think, and to realise that neither of them is in the right.

And just like happiness makes the days seem shorter than they actually are, the days they spend without each other seem to take the longest. At the end of these days they can only wrap their arms around each other and communicate their love and the excuses they have to make through touch alone.

To them it comes almost as a surprise when they wake up to a spring morning that is crisp and yet already promises to become a warm day. It is Sunday, and while neither of them is quite ready to leave the comfort of the warm bed they do start making plans for the day. Combeferre has put an arm around Grantaire, who uses his chest as a pillow, and is drawing lazy circles on the other man’s shoulder while they ponder ideas and places.

“We should go out somewhere,” Grantaire says, and Combeferre makes a non-committal sound. Grantaire ignores it as he continues to think out loud. “We could go to the Luxembourg, or Saint Cloud. Both are beautiful at this time of year.”

Combeferre smiles. “I think Saint Cloud would be nice,” he says. “But not before it has warmed up a bit.”

“I wouldn't want to leave this bed right now anyway,” Grantaire replies, and snuggles closer. Combeferre just laughs softly.

They do go to Saint Cloud, but they do not leave until the afternoon. Combeferre is soon distracted by the plants that have started to bloom, but Grantaire does not mind it; he has brought his camera, and while Combeferre is looking at blossoms and young leaves, he takes photos of whatever catches his eye. Grantaire has taken to the medium of photography like a fish to water, and while he still draws and paints, he has a large collection of photographs that show Paris through the decades, as well as their friends. A painting based on one of the photos he has of their entire group hangs in the back room of the Musain, and some of the photos he has taken in the parks of Paris have found a place on the walls of Combeferre's flat.

Combeferre is so immersed in looking at a particular blossom that he does not even realise that Grantaire is with him again until he hears the sound of the shutter next to him. He looks up, and finds Grantaire smiling fondly at him, his camera in his hands. Combeferre smiles back and steps closer.

Grantaire leans up and presses a short kiss to his lips, before he says, “You're beautiful when you get so focussed on things.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre replies with a soft laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

They share a smile and Grantaire kisses Combeferre again, and then he wraps his arm around his waist and steers him away from the blooming bush. “As much as I like seeing you focussed on things, I think we came to have a nice afternoon together, not to get distracted by our passions, however interesting they are,” he says.

Combeferre smiles as he puts his own arm around Grantaire's shoulders. “I hope you can excuse my distraction then.”

“Maybe if you invite me to dinner later.” There is a grin on Grantaire's face, and Combeferre is only too ready to indulge him today.

“Where would you like to go?” he asks.

“How about the place I took you to for our first date?”

“Yes, I think we can do that,” Combeferre replies with a smile that Grantaire returns.

They spend the better part of their afternoon in the Parc de Saint Cloud, walking around, and very much wrapped up in their own world, far from the ordinary worries of their usual days, and the bigger problems of the world they normally have at the backs of their minds. The things that happened in both London and Paris do not lie very far in the past, and some of them are still heavily discussed among their friends. Where la ténébreuse is still very much a dead place, the city of chimneys is still fighting for its survival, and the possibility of being able to work against what has happened to the city below the city, is not something they can easily dismiss. It is of course entirely possible, that the fight is already lost for Paris, but even the slightest sliver of hope is nothing their group of revolutionaries is willing to give up. They all remember the way the city was before it died, and there is no one among them who would not want it to return to its former state of glory. All this seems far away when they are walking among the trees and bushes, between the other people visiting the park on this day.

Some of their friends have come to the park as well, over the course of the afternoon they meet Marius, Courfeyrac and Cosette, as well as Jehan, who is admiring the effects of spring and ever so often notes down ideas for new verses; he is accompanied by a young man, one of the various writers he has hosted and mentored in the flat over his bookshop over the years.

They stop for quick chats, but neither group wants to keep the other for too long, and apart from a few short remarks on the pleasant weather and their well-being they don't discuss much. Courfeyrac tries to turn the conversation on politics, but Cosette stops him with a charming smile.

“As important as this is, I think you can wait until tomorrow,” she says. “It is Sunday, let politics rest for one day, and enjoy the weather.”

Grantaire smiles at her, and kisses her hand with a flourish. “As usual you are right, Cosette. A day like this is not a day for politics.” Combeferre rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays his fondness. He knows few people who can still pass off manners like Grantaire's with as much grace as he does, and the thought strikes him how much they all have changed.

There are of course the obvious things, their way of dressing, their hair; but fashions have changed in more than one way, and they have long learned that the ability to not stand out in a crowd can be vital sometimes. They have adapted to that as much as they have adapted to the other ways the world has changed. They had to, because unlike the city of chimneys, where the ancient metropolis is still alive and mostly well, Paris does not offer the luxury of an entire city underground where people can live and disappear. There are some who stick to old habits and mannerisms and get away with it, mere eccentrics in a crowd, but les Amis have always favoured to be as unassuming as possible. It works better for some than for others, and as Grantaire has remarked on occasion it would be hard for Enjolras to be unassuming; he has always stood out, be it because of his looks, or because of his actions and speeches. It may be slightly harder for Enjolras to disappear in a crowd, but even he has no problem with it. Which is just as well, because while the age of Revolution may be over, a present day protest can still easily turn dangerous.

But all of that is nothing but idle thought on this day. There is no hint of protest in the air; the people are out enjoying the sun and a free day, and maybe for the first time since they got together Combeferre realises how much he is in love with Grantaire. It is no life-changing realisation, nor does it make the world shift. After all, Combeferre knew that he is in love with Grantaire, has known it for a long time, and there is really nothing new to realise about his feelings for the man. So maybe it is the way he feels about this day, the way spring is finally there and everyone seems to be taking a breather to spend it with their loved ones, but fact is that he really has not thought about it in a while. For the past few months all there was, was Grantaire, and at no point has he stopped to dwell on any of it.

He does not say anything about it until they have said their goodbyes to their friends. Once they have reached an area that is slightly less crowded with people, Combeferre stops and turns to face Grantaire, who gives him a questioning look. Combeferre just smiles at him, and bends down to press a kiss to his lips. He pulls his partner closer as he does it, and Grantaire's arms wrap around his neck. For a while Grantaire is all that registers with Combeferre; there is the way their bodies are pressed up against each other, and the ever present smell of paint on him; but he mostly zones in on the way their lips move against each other; how Grantaire's lips are chapped and rough against his own, and how it just feels like he is right where he is supposed to be. He does not let go of Grantaire when the kiss ends, he just leans his forehead against the artist's, and takes a deep breath.

“I love you,” he says, and it does not even occur to him that this is the first time he says the words to Grantaire. It has always been clear to him; he just somehow failed to mention it.

Grantaire beams up at him and leans upwards so he can kiss Combeferre. “I love you, too,” he says simply, and Combeferre is sure that the smile on his own face rivals Grantaire's right now. For a moment they just stand there, smiling at each other, but like any moment this has to end as well, and after another short kiss they resume their walk, Grantaire's arm wrapped tightly around Combeferre's waist, and Combeferre's arm lying around Grantaire's shoulders. Combeferre thinks that he couldn't be happier.

A few days later Joly comes to the shop while Combeferre is all alone. He looks pensive, and there is something about him that almost alarms Combeferre, because it is so very unlike his usually cheerful friend.

“What is bothering you?” Combeferre asks, a worried expression on his face.

“I have a problem and I am unsure what to do about it,” Joly replies.

“Then tell me about it and I will see what I can do.” Combeferre guides Joly over to the table in the corner. “I will just get you a cup of tea.”

When Combeferre returns from the kitchen, Joly is sitting on the edge of his chair, fiddling with his cane. Combeferre sits down across from him and says, “So what is the matter, my friend. It seems that this problem of yours is affecting you very much.”

Joly takes a moment to collect his thoughts, but then he says, “It is about Bossuet and Musichetta.”

The statement surprises Combeferre. “The last time I saw you everything seemed to be perfectly fine between the three of you. What has happened to make you say that?”

“It is not so much that we have problems with each other,” Joly replies with a sigh. “I just find myself in doubt about whether I still love them the way they deserve, and the way we have loved each other for all these years.”

“But everyone has doubts about these things sometimes. Surely you are not completely unfamiliar with it,” Combeferre says, frowning slightly.

Joly nods. “I am familiar with doubt. But lately I do not only doubt, I find my thoughts occupied with someone else. And I am not sure if I should stay with Bossuet and Musichetta or if I should walk away from our relationship and seek something with this person.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “That seems more like Jehan's area of expertise than mine.”

Joly replies with a sigh, “I would have asked dear Prouvaire for advice, but he himself is the object of these new-found affections.”

“That does of course make it difficult to ask him,” Combeferre says smiling. He leans forward and grasps Joly's forearm. “I will tell you the same thing he has told me a long time ago. You should accept happiness wherever you find it. If you think you would be happy with Jehan then maybe that is where your path should lead you, but if you think it would be better to stay with Bossuet and Musichetta then that is what you should do. Sadly I cannot make that decision for you.”

“I wouldn't want you to,” Joly replies with a smile of his own. “But thank you. I shall have to think about what to do, but I believe I will be able to come to a decision now.”

“That is good to hear.”

Joly sets down his empty cup, and gets up. “Once again, thank you, my friend. I should not take up too much of your time. Besides, I said I would only be out for a short time, I wouldn't want to make Musichetta worry by staying out for too long.”

“I'm here when you need me,” Combeferre says, as he gets up as well and gives Joly a hug. “You can always come.”

Joly returns the hug with a smile, picks up his cane, and then he is already walking out of the shop and Combeferre is alone again.

Only a few days later Joly leaves the apartment he has been sharing with Bossuet and Musichetta. Grantaire organises a room in the Hôtel Absinthe for him. Things between him and his former partners are a bit awkward for a time, but Joly and Bossuet have always been close, and they stay so even after the end of their romantic involvement. They are close as brothers now, and seem just as happy with it. And while Bossuet continues his involvement with Musichetta, Joly gets ever closer to Jehan.

In all the years that they have known the poet his romantic affairs have been few and mysterious to his friends. He does not usually share with whom he is involved, and often the only thing they are aware of is that there is someone that their friend shares his bed and affections with. But Jehan has always looked with a particular fondness at Joly, and it is no surprise to them when he accepts Joly's advances easily.

The evening on which Combeferre realises that Joly seems to have found his new happiness is one of the many they all spend together talking easily at the Musain. Grantaire has his arm lying on the backrest of Combeferre's chair, and they sit close together, watching their friends while sharing the occasional comment with each other.

“Joly and Jehan seem positively cheerful these days,” Grantaire remarks, and Combeferre takes a moment to study their two friends where they are deep in conversation.

It is true that both of them seem to radiate happiness in a way that reminds Combeferre of how he has seen both of them before. He hopes for them that it will last a while before they have to face the problems they are both prone to again. The change in their relationship is obvious in the way they seem drawn to each other, and while Joly's chair still stands close to that of Bossuet, he is leaning closer to Jehan now, their heads almost touching as they share a laugh. Jehan has his arm braced on the edge of Joly's chair, close to Joly's own hand.

Combeferre smiles at their closeness, and says, “I do believe that they both have found something new in each other.”

“It seems so,” Grantaire agrees. “And it also seems like this new development does not surprise you.”

When Combeferre turns to him he can see that the other man has pulled up one eyebrow. “Joly may have confided in me concerning some things,” he admits.

“And I shall not pry for any more information than that. I know you won't betray a friend's trust.” Grantaire smiles at him and presses a short kiss to the corner of his mouth. For a moment they gaze into each other's eyes, and then Combeferre leans forward to kiss Grantaire.

And as happy as Combeferre is for the sake of his friends, he wishes that his happiness may last a while longer as well.

It is a few months later that Combeferre asks Grantaire to properly move in with him. At this point Grantaire is already spending most of his time at Combeferre's, and he has joked that his fellow dwellers at the Hôtel Absinthe must already have forgotten what he looks like. A lot of Grantaire's things have found their way into Combeferre's apartment and he wakes up to the sight of unruly brown curls more often than not.

It is a beautiful spring morning when Combeferre watches Grantaire wake up and after a short peck onto his lips says, “Will you move in with me?”

For a second Grantaire just looks at him as if he wonders if he is still dreaming, but then he smiles. “I think I already have.”

“Yes, but will you move in with me officially?” Combeferre smiles back, and Grantaire lets out a laugh as he leans over and presses a short kiss to his lips.

“Yes, I will move in with you,” he says, grinning, and Combeferre pulls him closer and nuzzles into Grantaire's neck.

As it turns out moving in with each other officially does not really change a lot. Gone are the nights Combeferre spends on his own, and the last remaining spaces in the half of Combeferre's closet that Grantaire had already started to take over are filled up faster than both of them expect. It's the other, smaller things that turn out to be harder to place. Some of them just find spaces naturally between the things Combeferre has accumulated over the years, some brought home from his travels, others gifts from various friends and acquaintances, but others prove to be a challenge. Combeferre turns out to be rather particular about the placement of books in the shelves, and for a short time some of Grantaire's books between his own stick out, like a dirty patch on a newly painted wall. But he tells himself that there is nothing he can do about it and that he will get used to it sooner or later, and before he knows it that is exactly what happens.

The only things they do not move into Combeferre's flat are most of Grantaire's art supplies. He has a sketch book, and pencils, but not much more; his easel and paints stay in the Hôtel Absinthe, in a room with lighting that is much better than that in any of the rooms at Combeferre's place. It is an arrangement that is as much born out of functionality as it serves them to be able to have a space of their own when they need it. They have known each other for a long time, but this is still new for both of them and neither wants to risk anything for the sake of being together all the time. Grantaire does as much of his work as possible in Combeferre's shop or their apartment, but he goes to his studio when he needs to, and trusts Combeferre to know when to get him out of it and back home. The arrangement works for them, and even if there are times when Combeferre forgets about interrupting Grantaire's artistic frenzies, or one of them annoys the other with their habits, their life is generally peaceful and happy.

Routine enters their lives, but they find nothing boring or mundane in it, just a content feeling of fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle, and the always welcome feeling of being home. Sometimes Combeferre thinks about how it is said that home is where the heart is and he assumes that there is something to it. But people seem to take it so literally and more often than not it seems to be considered to be about love, which Combeferre guesses it is, just not simply about romantic love. His friends are as much his home as Grantaire is, and he feels that he would not feel at home if any of them was missing, they are after all, family.

But at the same time Grantaire is just more than that. Combeferre himself finds it hard to describe, it is something about the way they work with each other, and how Grantaire fills spaces in his life he wasn't even aware of before. It is something about how nothing can replace Grantaire being the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up. And it is something about how he complains about the annoying things Grantaire does, but without meaning it. Their group of friends may be his home, but it is nothing without the different relationships he has with them.

All of this makes the news they receive from Prague and the city of chimneys seem minor, even though the things they imply could affect them more than they can imagine now. Most of it comes in the form of mere rumours about how there was some sort of fight, about the Lord of Light and his Lady, about two sisters fighting in a fight that is far older than they are. None of them are going to act upon mere rumours though and so they are stuck in a limbo of wanting to act and not being able to.

It is in the middle of all this that someone Combeferre hasn't seen for a very long time enters his book shop. He is in the middle of pestering Grantaire to at least drink something, since he does not seem to want lunch, but the well-worn argument trickles off when the bell above the door sounds and a group of three enters. The man in front is essentially still the way Combeferre remembers him, if a little older and wearier of the world than before.

“Wittgenstein,” Combeferre says as he straightens and greets the other man with a smile. “And this must be Emily Laing.” The young woman standing next to her mentor studies him with a look that is all too familiar, but then Combeferre supposes it takes a certain type of person to be able to get along with someone like Mortimer Wittgenstein. Grantaire looks up at the sound of her name, something like recognition in his eyes, but he stays silent.

Wittgenstein gives Combeferre a nod in return, polite as always. “Monsieur Combeferre,” he says, before a wry smile slides onto his face. “Or Combeferre, as you told me to call you the last time.”

Combeferre smiles back at him. “It has been a long time. To what do I owe this visit?”

“I thought you might be interested in some news we have on what happened in the past few weeks. I am sure you and your friends could make something of it.”

“We would be glad to hear more from reliable sources,” Combeferre replies nodding. “But we can talk about it later when everyone can be there, so you only have to tell the tale once. Sit down in the meantime and have a cup of tea.” He gestures to where Grantaire is sitting at his usual table, and has to bite back a chuckle at how Emily startles when she realises that someone else is in the shop. His partner is already shuffling papers around to make space. He grabs his sketchbook and pencil and gets up to take Emily's hand, bow dramatically and press a kiss to her hand.

“It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Laing,” he says as he gets back up, before he nods to Wittgenstein, and their other companion, and comes over behind the counter. He presses a quick kiss to Combeferre's lips in passing, and says, “I will be right back. I'm just going to bring this upstairs.”

“Bring some of the biscuits from the kitchen, when you're up there,” Combeferre replies with a smile, and Grantaire gives him an easy salute as he saunters out through the door in the back room. Combeferre smiles after him for a moment, before he follows through to make tea for all of them.

Once they are all seated again, or at least standing semi-comfortable around the table, Wittgenstein watches Combeferre for a moment. “I think there is something I should tell you about now, because I believe it touches something personal for you.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “I already know about Eliza.”

“I should have known that,” Wittgenstein says with a crooked smile, while his young companion looks surprised.

“You know Eliza Holland?” she asks, and Combeferre nods.

“Her brother Tom came to talk to me after what happened with her and Lady Lilith.”

“I assume you knew about their secret before that,” Wittgenstein says.

“I knew ever since they returned to Egypt. I was worried about Tom, so I made him tell me,” he admits, and he can feel Grantaire's hand slide into the hair at the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. Combeferre has to remind himself that the only thing Grantaire knows about Tom is that they were close once, and the kiss he witnessed all these months ago. But Grantaire seems to pick up on the fact that there is more to it, and that it is not something Combeferre would talk lightly about, but he realises that maybe this is a conversation they should have. Because whatever happens Combeferre thinks that he needs Grantaire to know that even when he was with Tom it was always clear to Combeferre that there would only ever be Grantaire, if he could have him.

Wittgenstein seems to pick up on Grantaire being unaware of the full situation, and he quickly steers the conversation towards safer ground.

Grantaire must have gotten the news about their visitors out to the others, because when they arrive at the Corinthe that evening everyone else is already there. Combeferre can even see a few faces that do not usually appear at their meetings. Cosette's father, Jean Valjean is sitting in a corner, Javert by his side as usual. They look old, even older than when Combeferre saw them last, but to his knowledge they still live together in the house in the Rue Plumet that they moved into shortly after those fateful days in June 1832.

Their friends probably look more relaxed than they are to the untrained eye, Combeferre thinks. There is some easiness to the way they are standing and sitting around, chatting easily, but he can tell from the way Bahorel's fist clenches at his side in irregular intervals, and how Joly turns his cane in his hands that there is an underlying current of tension in the room. All of them must wonder what exactly they are going to hear tonight. Enjolras catches his eye as soon as they enter the room, and he comes forward to embrace Combeferre.

“It is good to see you,” he says, and Combeferre knows it is probably more out of nervousness than anything else. Enjolras wants to know what happened so they can decide what to do, but he fears that he might not want to hear the news.

Combeferre smiles at him, and says, “These are Mortimer Wittgenstein, Emily Laing and Tristan Marlowe.” And then, turned towards their guests. “This is Enjolras, a friend of many years, and leader of our little group.”

Enjolras smiles at them and shakes their hands. “I hope you can finally shed some light on the rumours we heard. News we can trust are hard to come by.”

“We shall do our best to help you,” Wittgenstein replies, and Enjolras nods, as he gestures them to follow him.

Combeferre turns to find Grantaire, and barely has time to give him a smile and say hello to Joly and Bossuet when he does, because Enjolras is ever working and already calls the room to order. Combeferre settles in next to Grantaire and gratefully accepts the glass of wine that is pushed towards him, while Wittgenstein introduces himself at the front of the room and begins to tell his story.

By the end of it more than a few glances have been shared among them, and quite a lot of things have been communicated silently across the room. They all take a moment to gather their thoughts, before Jehan speaks up first.

“So theoretically it would be possible to fight what killed la ténèbreuse.”

“You forget that we don't have the benefit of two angels to help us,” Grantaire reminds him. “I don't see how we could do it without.”

“Grantaire is right,” Enjolras says. “But what if we weren't out to try to kill Hermera?”

“You mean...” Courfeyrac says, and Enjolras nods.

“Yes, what if we work to fight her influence? Take the city below back one bit at a time.”

“You heard what happened in London,” Feuilly says. “And you saw what happened here. I doubt it would work. They barely survived. These are ancient powers; you heard how it destroyed cities before. There is no way we can revive la ténèbreuse. This is far too big for us.”

Combeferre is inclined to agree, but when Enjolras looks at him and asks, “What do you think, Combeferre?” he can't help but think that it might be worth a try.

“I would have to think about it,” he says. “Any action to revive la ténèbreuse would likely either attract the attention or direct opposition of Hermera and her followers. Which, I believe, is what Feuilly fears.” He glances at Feuilly, who is nodding along, but continues before anyone can say anything. “But I think it might be worth trying to find a way to at least somewhat counteract the death of the city. The districts and the admittedly few places that still exist, show that it is possible, so maybe not all hope is lost.”

He lets the others mull that over in their heads as he leans back. Grantaire is smiling at him, a hint of melancholy in his eyes, and Combeferre looks at him questioningly.

“I forgot how good you are at inspiring people,” Grantaire says. “It's different from Enjolras. He's charming and he has the talent to sway a crowd to his will, if he wants to do so. But you're more logical. You convince them that you're right, and that there's hope.”

Combeferre smiles at him and grips his neck. “It's because I believe we shouldn't give up on hope, and that there's always room for progress.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, still smiling, but far less melancholic now. “It's good. It's what this world needs.”

“It needs people like you as well,” Combeferre says earnestly. “Someone to remind us of what we have to work with and that our possibilities are limited.”

Combeferre still remembers when his words would have prompted Grantaire to reply with something cynical about how he could never hope to have a use in the world. He thinks he likes the honest smile and the, “It's good you have me then.” better.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://abschaumno1.tumblr.com)


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